


Getting Better All The Time

by heyjupiter



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Science Bros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:09:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24918115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyjupiter/pseuds/heyjupiter
Summary: When a bad migraine grounds Tony from an Avengers mission, Bruce assures Tony that the team will be okay without him. Tony worries anyway, but refuses to ask Peter for help. But if everyone can make it through the night, they'll have pancakes in the morning.
Relationships: Bruce Banner & Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Bruce Banner/Tony Stark
Comments: 14
Kudos: 62
Collections: Bruce Banner Bingo 2019





	Getting Better All The Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xxx_cat_xxx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxx_cat_xxx/gifts).



> It's after midnight in your time zone, so, happy birthday Cat!! Hope your day is much nicer than Tony's!
> 
> This is also for the "gentle touches" square on my [Bruce Banner Bingo card](https://twentyghosts.tumblr.com/brucebingo).
> 
> I marked this as "canon divergent" but it's not set in any kind of specific AU, just some nice timeline where everyone lives and Bruce is still Bruce.
> 
> Thanks to volunteerfd for beta reading!

Tony closed one eye, then the other. Then he took off his tinted glasses, wiped them on the hem of his T-shirt, and rubbed both eyes with the heel of his hand. He put the glasses back on and fought a grimace when the faintly blurry, shiny areas on the left side of his vision remained. He didn't always get auras before a migraine, but when he did, he'd learned it meant he had about half an hour before he'd be incapacitated. Which meant he'd better work fast to finish up his current project. 

Tony's time was always precious to him, but knowing that he only had a few minutes before the migraine took him out of the workshop for hours at best (and days at worst) meant that he needed to make the most of them.

Unfortunately, Bruce had different ideas, and he was watching Tony intently. Usually, Tony enjoyed being the subject of Bruce's attention, but just now he'd been hoping Bruce would be too focused on his work to notice Tony's behavior.

"How are you feeling?" Bruce asked softly.

Tony suspected he'd been caught, but he forced a smile and said, "Fine! Just had something in my eye. Hand me that, uh, that...thing."

Bruce raised his eyebrows. He picked up the wrench Tony had indicated and held it close to his chest, not extending it toward Tony. "You're fine, huh?"

"Peachy."

"So you wouldn't mind if I had JARVIS turn up the music in here? And the lights, I think it's a little bit dim in here, don't you?"

"I...yeah, if you say so," Tony replied, calling Bruce’s bluff. 

Bruce shook his head and folded. "Tony, why do you do this? You _know_ if you go rest now, your migraine will be over sooner."

"I don't know that the data totally supports that," Tony grumbled. He'd never been particularly good at thinking about his future well-being.

"Let's go lie down. This stuff will keep."

"But—"

"I'll come back and clean up after you get settled. Okay?" Bruce slung an arm around Tony's shoulders. Changing tactics, he asked, "Tony, please, if you won't do it for yourself, will you do it for me?"

Tony sighed. Bruce rarely ever asked for anything, and Tony hated to say no to him. "Okay, sure, fine, if you're going to make a big thing about it."

"Thank you. You know I hate seeing you in pain." It was a cheesy line, but Bruce delivered it with an utter sincerity that melted the last of Tony’s stubborn resistance. Bruce gave Tony's shoulder a gentle rub and guided him out of the workshop and down to their bedroom. Tony washed up and changed into pajamas while Bruce set out water and Tony's meds for him. Tony took the pills, though their efficacy was variable. Tony climbed into bed and checked his phone for anything urgent. 

Bruce pried the phone out of his hands and asked, "How are you feeling?" 

"It hasn't really started yet, just the aura. Gimme my phone back."

"Looking at that bright screen isn't going to make you feel any better."

Tony sighed and buried his head against the cool pillowcase, mourning all the time that he was about to waste. Already too tired to fight for his phone, he asked, "Then will you read to me?"

"Of course. What do you want me to read?"

"I don't know. Something interesting."

Bruce reached for a print journal off of his nightstand—he maintained some print subscriptions rather than read everything on his tablet, which Tony chose to find charming instead of hopelessly old-fashioned—and began to read a scholarly paper about isospin-dependent quantum molecular dynamics. Tony let Bruce's husky voice wash over him, trying his best to ignore the tendrils of pain that were beginning to wrap around his skull. He burrowed his face deeper into the pillow.

"Should I keep going?" Bruce asked.

"Mm...yeah, finish this article." Tony wasn't far gone enough to prefer absolute silence just yet. Bruce kept reading, but he reached out and squeezed the pressure point at the base of Tony's right thumb as he finished the article. 

Tony hated having migraines, but he was grateful that they hadn't become a recurring problem until after Bruce was already a part of his life. They'd developed from post-concussion syndrome; apparently being a superhero was hazardous to one's health in the long term as well as the short term. Bruce had recognized what Tony was going through and immediately jumped in with all kinds of ways to alleviate the pain. Tony really didn't know what he would have done without Bruce; he'd probably just have curled up on the floor of his workshop and begged DUM-E to cut his head off to stop the pain. Bruce's methods were definitely better.

The pain started in earnest and Tony tried focusing on the deep, rhythmic breathing Bruce had taught him. He tried not to whimper, but based on the soft, sympathetic sound Bruce made, Tony didn't think he was successful.

"I'm sorry, Tony. Is there anything I can do? Were the pressure points helping?"

Tony shook his head against the pillow. He thought fondly of hangovers, which he'd once naively thought were the worst possible malady that could befall him. He'd trade this migraine for a week of hangovers, no question.

"I'll be here if you need me, okay?"

"You don't have to stay…." As usual, Tony offered a token escape clause to Bruce, who surely had better things to do than sit by Tony's bedside.

"Do you want me to leave?" Bruce gave his usual response. Tony shook his head again, feeling selfish, and Bruce lightly rubbed his shoulders.

Bruce settled in beside him, reading something on his tablet with the lowest screen lighting. Tony drifted off into a gray space that wasn't quite asleep, but wasn't quite awake, either. He wasn't sure how much time he'd spent there when he became aware of movement in the room. He rolled over on his side and squinted. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could make out Bruce fussing over something on the bedside table.

"Brucie?"

"Hey, Tony, I'm sorry to wake you."

"Wasn't sleeping. What's up?"

Bruce sighed. "I'm sorry, Tony, I have to go, I was just trying to leave out anything you might need."

"Where're you going?"

Bruce twisted his hands together. "Eastern Europe?"

"What?"

"It's, um, a mission…"

"Oh. 'Kay, I'll get ready."

"No, no, I told Steve you weren't medically cleared—"

Tony sat up and immediately regretted it. But still, he didn't want to be left behind. He gritted his teeth and rose to his feet unsteadily.

"JARVIS, lights," Tony said.

"No!" Bruce replied.

In an apparent compromise, the room's lights came on at half-intensity, which was, frankly, way too much light. Tony gasped at the fresh pain and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Tony, c'mon, please just lie back down. I'm sorry to leave you but really, we'll be fine."

"No, I—" Tony's protest was cut off by a wave of pain so intense that it triggered an urgent wave of nausea. He gagged and Bruce silently handed him a basin. Tony sat down on the edge of the bed and threw up, wishing very much that he'd been able to at least cross the room to the toilet. But when he'd emptied himself out, Bruce took the basin from him without a word. He handed Tony a bottle of water, and Tony took a few sips before he grudgingly laid back down. 

"JARVIS, lights _off_ ," Bruce said, and the AI complied. Bruce made his way to the bathroom in the dark, and Tony could hear the sink running as Bruce cleaned up Tony's mess.

"Sorry," Tony mumbled, when Bruce returned to his side.

Bruce offered him a damp washcloth to clean his face, and pressed another against the base of Tony's neck. "It's okay, Tony, but...see why you have to stay home and rest?"

"I guess you might have a point. I just...want to go with you. What if you guys need me?"

Bruce massaged the pressure points in Tony's hand as he said, "Don't worry about us. We have a Hulk, remember?"

"Right," Tony replied, though he knew that Bruce hated to fight and Tony always felt bad when it was asked of him. It just wasn't fair that a pacifist was called into battle so often; but then, Bruce would be the first to tell you that life wasn't fair.

"And Rhodey's coming."

Tony forced himself to grumble, "That scrub?" but he did feel better knowing Rhodey would be there.

Bruce laughed and took Tony's other hand. "Yeah. And, Tony? Peter _isn't_ coming, so if things—"

"No." Tony knew that Bruce thought it was silly, but Tony didn't want Peter to know about the migraines. For whatever reason, Peter looked up to Tony, and Tony didn't want the kid to worry or worse, to think of Tony as weak. Instead, he'd given Peter some truly weak excuses for blowing him off over the last few years. (It didn't help that Bruce was an awful liar who could not be counted on to convincingly cover for his illness.)

Bruce persisted. "If things get worse, and you need anything, you should call him. You know he'd be happy to help."

"I don't want him to worry about me."

Bruce sighed. "And it's okay if I worry about you?"

"Yeah, you signed up for this."

Bruce pressed a kiss against the back of Tony's hand. "I guess I did. Well—JARVIS will keep an eye on you, right, JARVIS? And let him know when he can take his next dose of meds?"

"Of course, sir."

"Thank you, JARVIS." Bruce took Tony's other hand and kissed it. "Tony, I love you, I gotta go, please just stay in bed, okay?"

"Fine, but you'd better join me as soon as you get back," Tony replied, trying to thread a bit of innuendo into his voice.

"Okay, Tony," Bruce said, and Tony wasn't in so much pain that he couldn't detect the hint of amusement in Bruce's voice. "I'll see you soon. I left you some crackers and stuff—try to eat something if you can."

With one last rub of Tony's back, Bruce left. Tony was all alone. He closed his eyes and tried to take deep, even breaths, hoping to clear his mind and relax. But he couldn't stop thinking about Bruce. He knew Hulk would be alright, of course—Bruce had been vague about the mission details but Tony didn't think there was anything on Earth that could do serious harm to Hulk. But after Hulk, there was Bruce again.

Tony had had occasion to go on missions without Hulk, but never before had Bruce gone on one without Tony. Bruce was bad at advocating for himself in the best of times, and after his transformations, he often had difficulty verbalizing even the simplest requests. But Tony and Bruce had a post-Hulk routine. First, Tony would make sure Bruce was properly clothed for the elements. Then Bruce would insist on using whatever energy he could expend on providing medical care for any of his teammates who needed it. Then Tony would get Bruce the calories and electrolytes he needed to replenish, and finally, Bruce could rest. Whenever possible, he'd slump against Tony's shoulder or curl up on his lap and fall into a deep sleep.

Outside of the aftermath of missions, Tony rarely had the chance to take care of Bruce like that, and he always cherished the opportunity. But now he was stuck in bed while Bruce went off to save the day. And then what? Would their teammates let Bruce pass out, unfed and un-cared for? 

Or, perhaps worse, would one of their teammates fill Tony's shoes too well? It wasn't as if their teammates didn't like Bruce. What if Nat or Steve or Thor let Bruce curl up against them? What if Bruce realized he could do better than a partner like Tony, who made Bruce clean up his puke and let a little headache keep him out of battle? The thought made Tony groan and grab for the basin Bruce had left. He only dry heaved into it, then sipped some more water. He wished desperately that it was coffee or something stronger, but water was what Bruce had left him.

JARVIS spoke up and said, "Sir, might I remind you of Dr. Banner's suggestion that you try to eat something? You may take another dose of the Imitrex as well as the Gravol, but my understanding is that it would be preferable if you had some food in your stomach as well."

Tony sighed, but he squinted at the bedside table and saw that Bruce had also left out saltine crackers, along with doses of his pain and anti-nausea medications carefully counted out on a dish so Tony didn't have to open the bottles. His heart swelled with affection for Bruce even as the rest of his body rebelled. But Tony managed to eat a few crackers and swallowed his pills before once again burying his head in the pillows.

Tony mentally drifted, trying not to think too hard about anything. Thinking made his brain hurt. Especially thinking about Bruce curled up across Thor's giant muscular thighs. Eventually, he managed to fall asleep for a bit. He awoke feeling cold and realized that at some point he'd kicked off the blankets. But as he reached for the tangled mess of bedding, he saw with relief that now Bruce was lying beneath the covers.

The pain in Tony’s head was starting to retreat and he felt up to some light movement. He took a deep breath and managed to roll over, snag a scrap of blanket for himself, and reposition Bruce's arm so that Tony could rest on Bruce's chest. Bruce didn't wake, but he made a small, contented sound as Tony pressed against him. Tony drifted back to sleep feeling much less despair about the state of the world.

When Tony woke again, he felt much less pain and much more hunger. He wasn't sure how long he'd slept, but Bruce was still out. Tony sat up and watched him for a moment; he was still out in his deep, post-Hulk slumber. Tony leaned forward to kiss Bruce's forehead, and then he climbed out of bed. He noticed Bruce's Hulk pants in a pile at the foot of the bed, suggesting that Bruce hadn't changed out of them on the Quinjet. A bit worrying, but on the other hand, at least it also meant that none of their teammates had helped Bruce change clothes. Feeling pleased to be the one picking up after Bruce for once, Tony put the pants in the hamper and gagged when his hands came away slimy with some unknown substance. 

After washing his hands thoroughly, he allowed himself a moment to check in with his body. He felt a bit stiff and achy from so much time spent lying down, and he felt hungry, and he felt a vague sense of phantom pain--his head didn't hurt, but he still felt like it _should_ hurt. Still, though, he felt so much better than he had just hours earlier.

He wanted to seize the day and break into song and all of that jazz, but he didn't want to wake Bruce. Instead he took a quick shower, and then he dressed and went to the kitchen to make breakfast in bed for Bruce. Or lunch in bed? He'd have to check the time. Whatever the time, Bruce would need to eat when he woke up.

In the kitchen, Tony started coffee brewing first thing. Then he aimlessly opened and closed cabinets and asked, "J, what time is it?"

"The time is 9:35 AM, and the date is Friday, June 26th." Tony winced. It had been Wednesday afternoon when his migraine had started. He'd lost a day and a half. Still, it was shorter than some of his first miserable migraines had been. He and Bruce were getting better at keeping them controlled.

"And when did Bruce get home?"

"Dr. Banner returned to the Tower at 4:47 AM." 

Now that Tony was back on his feet, he'd have to make up for lost time. But Bruce would definitely need more sleep if he'd gotten home so late; Tony had plenty of time to make Bruce a special breakfast. 

He took a cup of coffee and went back to the workshop, where everything was abandoned from when his migraine had begun on Wednesday. Bruce apparently hadn’t left Tony's side to go clean up, but Tony had to admit that nothing seemed worse for having been left out. He ignored the mess and pulled out what he'd come for, a prototype he'd abandoned a while ago. He couldn't remember why he'd stopped work on it; it seemed basically functional already. He absently ate some M&Ms he'd stashed at his workstation while examining the project. After some light tinkering and cleaning out, he was sure he had a functional 3D pancake printer. He took it back to the kitchen and prepared some pancake batter according to the directions on the box, then set about making a perfect breakfast for Bruce.

Tony was beginning to remember why he'd scrapped this project. He'd just scraped his third batch of ruined pancakes into the compost bin when Bruce wandered into the kitchen. He was barefoot and damp from the shower, and had changed out of his Hulk pants and into flannel pajama pants and an SI T-shirt. He looked sleepy and adorably rumpled, with a touch of his usual post-Hulk disorientation. "Brucie!"

"Hey, Tony. You're feeling better?"

"Yeah. What about you?"

"Hungry," Bruce admitted. He opened a cabinet and fished out a bag of almonds, which he promptly started shoveling into his mouth. 

"I was going to bring you breakfast in bed. I thought you'd be asleep for longer."

Bruce ate another handful of almonds and then seemed to notice Tony's project for the first time. He smiled and said, "I'll still be hungry. I'm just warming up."

"Didn't any of our teammates feed you?"

"I had some energy bars, but that was a while ago. You know how it goes." Tony did know; the Hulk's metabolism was incredible. Bruce came closer to Tony, examining the pancake printer. "What are you making?"

Tony pulled Bruce into a hug. "Pancakes. Well, I'm trying to make pancakes, anyway."

Bruce hugged him back, then pulled away to grab a banana from the fruit bowl on the counter. He ate it quickly, in a very un-erotic fashion, as he studied the pancake printer. 

"See," Tony said, starting it up again and watching the colored batter drip down onto the griddle, "I was going to make you a Hulk pancake."

Bruce laughed. "What's wrong with Mickey Mouse?"

"Notoriously litigious. And not as cool as the Hulk. But I guess I just don't have the machine quite right."

"Hm. I think the machine is okay, but it looks like the batter's too thick. The outside will burn before the inside can cook through."

"Oh." Tony felt dumb for not thinking of that, and he didn't even have the migraine to blame. He'd just been so focused on the mechanical elements that the food part seemed unimportant.

Bruce set about making a new batch of pancake batter from scratch. Tony cleaned out the pancake printer and let Bruce take over.

"Sorry," Tony said.

"Huh?"

"I wanted to make you breakfast in bed, but instead I put you to work."

"I appreciate the thought, Tony, but really I don't mind. I'll send you the recipe so you can try some other time."

"Okay."

"Hey, can you pass me a spatula?"

"Oh, it should flip them automatically, there's a timer."

"It needs to flip now, when it stops bubbling."

Tony sighed and showed Bruce the override to manually make the griddle flip the pancake. "I guess this could use some more user testing before we take it to market."

"It is really cool, though," Bruce assured him.

Assuaged by the compliment, Tony asked, "You're okay, right?"

"Yes?"

"I mean—I mean from the mission. I still wish I could have gone with you."

"Tony, I'm fine. Everyone is fine. And you were in no shape to go anywhere."

Tony drank his coffee and nodded, unhappy with that accurate assessment. Bruce added, "It's happened to all of us, you know. We've all missed missions for different reasons. Nobody thinks any less of you for being sick. You weren't mad at Nat when she didn't come with us to Texas last month, were you?"

"Not at her. I was just mad that we had to go to Texas for any reason," Tony replied immediately. 

"Or when Clint had to have spinal surgery and was out for weeks? Or—"

"Bruce, I get it, we're a team, blah blah blah. I...I wasn't really worried about the team. I just...I want...to take care of you," Tony admitted.

Bruce's expression softened. "Aw, Tony, you do. More than...more than I ever would have expected anyone to."

Tony knew that "more than Bruce would have expected" was a low bar for caretaking. "I know it's hard for you, after. I wanted to be there to help you."

"Before the Avengers I used to just wake up in a ditch, naked and alone. I...it's very nice, when you're there, but I can get by okay without you. When I have to."

Bruce had been trying to make Tony feel better, but instead he felt worse. He hated to think about Bruce's time on the run. He hated to think that someday Bruce might have to leave again. Tony blurted out, "You didn't fall asleep on Thor's lap, did you?"

"What?"

"It's fine if you did, I was just, you know, wondering."

Bruce snorted. "Tony, I fall asleep on _your_ lap because I love you. In your absence, the Quinjet has padded benches."

"Oh. Well. Okay. So that's a 'no' on Thor's lap? For the record?"

Bruce was looking at him with fond exasperation. It was a familiar look, and sometimes it annoyed Tony but now he was happy to see that Bruce thought he was being ridiculous.

"Tony, you're not jealous, are you? You don't honestly think there's anybody who could possibly compare to you?"

Bruce's matter-of-fact tone made Tony smile, but he said, "Well...Thor _is_ literally a god."

Still matter-of-fact, Bruce said, "I'm an atheist." 

Tony came to stand behind Bruce and slipped his arms around Bruce's waist. He pressed a kiss to Bruce's cheek and just held him tight for a moment.

Bruce twisted around and gave Tony a quick kiss on the lips, but then he said, "Hang on, this will burn." He plated a green and purple pancake that more or less did look like the Hulk. He tried to hand it to Tony, but Tony shook his head. 

"No, you eat it! I'll make more, now that you've got it working right."

Bruce didn't argue. He sat down at the counter, poured syrup on his edible avatar, and dug in. 

"How is it?" Tony asked.

Bruce nodded and gave a thumbs up, his mouth full of pancake. 

"Good." Pleased with their success, Tony programmed an Iron Man pancake for himself, and watched with continued satisfaction as it bubbled on the griddle. He'd just manually flipped it when JARVIS announced, "Peter Parker calling."

Tony frowned. "Pick it up on speaker. Peter? Don't you have school?"

"It's, um, summer, Mr. Stark?" Peter said it like it was a question. 

Tony nodded. "So it is. What's up?"

"I just wanted to check, um, if you were okay?"

Tony glanced at Bruce, who shrugged. Tony didn't need the kid to worry about him, but he didn't think Bruce had told Peter anything about his migraine; Bruce was a bad liar, and at the moment, his face looked innocent. So Tony said, "Just peachy."

While Tony was speaking, Bruce stood up from his stool and silently took the pancake off the griddle. Distracted by the phone call, Tony had let it get near-burnt. Bruce poured another pancake and took the big charred one for himself. 

"Oh, that's good," Peter said, oblivious to the minor culinary drama.

"Why do you ask?"

"Oh, uh, just, I saw online about the Avengers fighting some Hydra zombies in Moldova?"

Tony looked at Bruce and mouthed " _Zombies_?"

Bruce swallowed a bite of pancake and said, "They weren't exactly zombies. Just...just some unfortunate byproducts of biological experimentation."

"Oh, hey, Dr. Banner!"

Tony finally took another pancake off the griddle and took a bite. It definitely tasted better than anything Tony could have made on his own.

"Anyway, everyone's fine," Bruce said. "SHIELD already had a weirdly specific containment plan for zombies and, uh, zombie-like beings. Have you eaten breakfast?"

"No, I just got up."

"Tony's making pancakes."

"Really?" Peter asked, his tone offensively incredulous.

"Bruce helped," Tony admitted. He felt better now that he had some non-candy food in his system alongside the coffee; the final traces of his migraine were finally leaving his system.

"Ohh."

Tony had kind of wanted to take Bruce back to bed as soon as they were both restored to health, but it would be nice to see Peter. He said, "Yeah, you should come over and grab some."

"Really? Okay, um, I'm on my way. See ya, Mr. Stark! And Dr. Banner!" Peter hung up and Tony poured more batter into the pancake printer. They ate a few more pancakes—well, Tony ate a few, and Bruce ate a lot. 

Bruce made another batch of pancake batter. "Peter's a growing boy," he said. "Also I'm still hungry."

Tony gave Bruce a quick kiss before turning his attention back to the griddle. He had just put another pancake on Bruce's plate when he heard a tapping at the window. He turned and saw Spider-Man pressed up against the 90th floor kitchen window. Tony shook his head. 

Bruce said, "I didn't think the windows up this high even opened."

"They don't," Tony said. "Peter knows that, he's just trying to give me a heart attack." Peter waved and then swung down the building. A few minutes later, he appeared in the kitchen, wearing jeans and an academic decathlon T-shirt, a battered backpack slung over his shoulder.

"Peter, it's broad daylight. You couldn't just take the subway?"

"It was delayed. Anyway, I was in stealth mode until like, just now."

"Uh huh," Tony said. But he gave Peter a plate full of red and blue Spider-Man pancakes, which undercut any lecture Tony might have been inclined to give.

Peter's eyes widened. "Whoa, these are so cool!"

"Aren't they?" Tony smiled. 

"How'd you make them?"

Tony proudly showed off his creation. Peter said, "This could be huge on TikTok."

Bruce snorted. 

"It could be," Peter persisted. "Cooking videos are really popular."

"Why don't we do breakfast first and the social media strategy session later?"

Peter shrugged and tucked into his pancakes. "Mm, these are better than May's. I think she puts flaxseed in hers or something."

"Ew," Tony said.

"I think that would jam Tony's pancake printer," Bruce said.

"Yeah," Peter agreed. "Also they taste weird. So what were the zombies like?"

"Zombie-like beings," Bruce corrected. 

"Okay, what were they like?"

"I don't remember," Bruce said.

"Oh. Right," Peter said. He looked at Tony.

"I don't think this is good talk for the breakfast table," Tony said, feeling that he aged about fifty years as the words came out of his mouth. It sounded like something Edwin Jarvis would have said.

"So they were really gross?" Peter asked, his eyes wide.

Bruce and Tony shrugged. Bruce asked, "Have you and Ned made any new Legos lately?"

Tony gave Bruce a tiny smile.

Peter said, "I mean, we didn't like, actually _make_ the Legos, but um, we put together a big U.S.S. Enterprise, you know, from Star Trek?"

"I know Star Trek," Bruce said levelly, which Tony knew was a huge understatement. "Which Enterprise?"

"Oh! The Enterprise-D."

"Cool."

"Do...you want to see pictures?"

"I'd love to." 

Tony looked, too, though he privately thought Peter could probably find a better use for his considerable brainpower than putting together pre-designed kits.

The joke was on him for thinking that, of course, because then Peter added, "I was thinking, um, maybe we could build little repulsors for it? So it could actually fly?"

Tony's brows furrowed as he considered the project, and saw his lazy day with Bruce slipping away. "Uh, yeah, I think we could manage a flying toy."

" _Cool_. I didn't bring it with me, though, so, another time?"

"Sounds good," Tony said, hoping he didn't sound too relieved. 

Peter beamed and ate more pancakes. Bruce made another batch of batter; Tony made another pot of coffee.

Finally, they'd all had their fill of food, and Peter asked, "Okay, now that we're not eating, what were the zombie…-like beings like?" Bruce and Tony glanced at each other, and Peter said, "Are you sure you're okay, Dr. Banner?"

Bruce shrugged. "It's just always a little rough for me, the day after a Hulk-out."

"Oh. Right. Sorry." Peter looked guilty, but Tony was glad that Bruce had taken Peter's attention off of Tony.

"It just takes a lot out of me." Bruce's face changed to sheepish, and with his damp, rumpled curls and his faded pajamas, he looked like the furthest possible being from the Hulk. Tony felt the urge to just wrap Bruce up in a blanket and keep him away from combat; if not forever, at least for the afternoon.

"Why don't we just take it easy today?" Tony asked. "Watch a movie or something?"

"Sure, cool!" Peter agreed. "What about _28 Days Later_? Or _Shaun of the Dead_? Or _Zombieland_? Or—um, whatever's fine," he amended, based on the distressed expression on Bruce's face. 

Bruce always had more of an appetite for pancakes than for violence, but he wasn't usually so visibly squeamish about movies. Tony suspected that this mission had affected Bruce more than he wanted to say in front of Peter. Even if Bruce didn't consciously remember what he'd seen as Hulk, he would remember what he'd seen before and after his transformation. Tony squeezed Bruce's hand and gave him a questioning glance, but Bruce just nodded and said, "A movie sounds good."

They settled on the big couch in the common room. Bruce okayed _Shaun of the Dead_ , but as soon as Tony hit play, Bruce leaned over and rested his head in Tony's lap.

Tony leaned down and asked, "You okay?" 

"Just tired," Bruce mumbled. Tony pulled a soft sherpa blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over Bruce's shoulders. It was June, but Bruce tended to get chilly in air conditioning. Tony stroked Bruce's hair. Bruce gave a contented sigh, and before long he was asleep against Tony's thigh. Tony kept running his fingers through Bruce's hair and tried to watch the movie.

On Tony's other side, Peter asked, "So, when did you finish your new stealth suit?"

"Huh?"

"In Moldova. I watched all the videos but I never saw you. So I figured you must have been in like, super stealth mode. But since War Machine didn't have it, I thought it was new."

"Oh. Oh!" Tony blinked at the spinning wheels of Peter's mind. "No, I actually, uh, wasn't on that mission."

"Oh, that makes sense, because it would be extra terrible if zombies ate your brain," Peter said solemnly.

"What?"

"Because you're so smart."

Tony laughed. "Thanks, kid, but, that, uh, actually." He looked down at Bruce, who was tragically still asleep and unable to make an awkward attempt to redirect the conversation. Tony forced himself to admit, "I was sick, so, that's why I stayed home."

"Oh! Are you feeling better?" Peter looked stricken, as if Tony had admitted to having terminal cancer. This was why Tony hadn't wanted to say anything.

"Yeah, fine," Tony said, with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Okay, good. But, um, you know, May actually makes pretty good matzo ball soup."

"Yeah?"

"It's one of her better recipes. She hardly ever puts anything weird in it."

Tony nodded at the non-sequitur.

"So, uh, next time you're sick, I could bring you some. If you want."

Tony smiled. "Thanks."

"'Cause, like, if Dr. Banner and Col. Rhodes and everybody are away with the Avengers, and Mr. Hogan and Ms. Potts are still in California, and—well, you could call me. If you wanted."

"I appreciate it, Peter. I really am fine though."

"I'm just saying. For next time. You could...trust me. You help me all the time, so, you know, I can help too. Well, me and May."

Tony winced and decided to come clean. "Kid, the thing is, uh, I get migraines sometimes, and I really mostly just need to lie down in a dark room for awhile when it happens. There's not much you can do to help." And Peter's chatterbox tendencies and aromatic homemade soup would probably hurt, but Tony left that unsaid. He braced himself for Peter to say something about how Tony could be grounded with "just" a headache.

But Peter said, "Ohh, that sucks. I didn't know you got migraines. One of my teachers is sometimes out for days when she gets them, they must be awful. Last time the substitute let us watch _Contagion_ in class though."

"I only get them once in a while, but, yeah."

"That makes sense, though, I read about how a lot of NFL players get migraines."

"Uh-huh."

"From all the concussions they get." Peter frowned. "Maybe you need a better helmet."

"My helmet is fine. I need a better head."

"You have to protect your _braaains_ ," Peter said, holding his arms out in a zombie impression.

Tony rolled his eyes. "Let's just watch the movie," he said, happy to be able to tolerate the light and sound without issue.

"Sure," Peter said. "Um, I'm glad you're feeling better."

"Yeah, me too," Tony agreed.


End file.
